24 A KILLING T HE young man with steel- rImmed glasses walked into the dark hall of the apartment house and let the door close behind him. In a moment the clicking of the lock release stopped and he heard a door being opened two flights above him. ..A. shrill feminine voice called down, "Y\Tho's that?" He stood still and said nothing. " Wh ' d h ..." h . . d a s ow n t ere r t e v OIC e c rl e , more insistently. Let her call, he thought. It was what Ylr. Penney had said was one of the First Points of Ap- proach. In a walkup you rang an up- stairs bell but you didn't go up. No housewife would listen to you if you made her wait while you climbed two or three flights and her expecting God knows who-the iceman, perhaps, or the delicatessen or maybe even a boy friend. A salesman would just make her sore. .Silently he put down his big case and listened to his breathing in the hall until he heard the upstairs door close. When his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he carried his case over to a door on his right. He took off his hat and smoothed down his pale hair. He felt in his right overcoat pocket for the box containing the matched English military hairbrushes ("Our quickest seller and a fine opening line," Mr. Penney had said), but he didn't take it out. You didn't show what you had to sell at the door, but you had it handy. First establish your personality, then your merchandise. He felt for his dis- charge button ort his overcoat lapel and made sure it was right side up. That was his own best First Point of Approach. He bent over and read the smudged typewritten card beside the door: "Foltz." Mrs. Foltz. All set.. He pressed the doorbell. Smiling, not touching the door frame, he waited for almost thirty seconds. He was about to press the bell again when the door was thrown open by a woman. She wore a faded pink housecoat that bulged at the seams, and her plump face was powdered dead white. Her bleached hair was pinned in tight curls against her head. Without curiosity she leaned against the door jamb and looked at him with pale little eyes. "Mrs. Foltz," he began hastily, "Mrs. Foltz, I trust I'm not disturbing you. I would consider myself an intrud- er if I were not convinced that I am here to help you. I am here because I know that you, like every ..(-\merican housewife, are interested in the latest and the best In modern accessories to ease work and strain in your home. My concern also is anxious to get your re- action to our line of personal accessories for the entire household. ,V e ha ye hair,- brushes for your husband and children as well as the finest in hair and nail brushes for feminine allure." He paused for a moment. The woman hadn't moved or spoken; she was still staring at him dully, or rather at the top of his head. Damn! It was all wrong. He should nave mentioned brushes right away. Maybe she was a dummy or something. "What is it?" she said abruptly. "What have you got?" "Brushes," he said loudly "Brushes, Madam." He fingered the box in his pocket and wondered whether he should begin again. Just then there was a hoarse cry from inside the apartment. ",\;Vho's 'at? ,\;Vho's your pal out there?" Mrs. Foltz suddenly bent from the waist in a loud giggle of laughter. She straightened up, her hand over her mouth, and giggled louder. "My God!" she gasped. "My good, sweet God!" She turned from the open door and walked back into the apartment. She was still laughing. "It's the brush man," she whispered loudly. "The Fuller Brush man." "Well, go ahead," the voice inside the apartment said. "Don't just stand there. Ask him in, give 'm a drink. I gotta see a Fuller Brush man. Don't let him stand out there in the cold hall with his brushes. Bring him in here." Mrs. Foltz came back to the door, dabbing at her eyes with a tiny hand- kerchief. "C'mon in," she said, still giggling faintly. "Come in and sit d " own. T HE young man picked up his case hastily and followed her into the apartment. This was a break, he thought, after a bad start. .L-\ll the good sales were made inside; in the hall you didn't have a chance. He put his hat down on a chair inside the door Afl\lL 2. 7, 194 b and carried his case into the room. The place was small, and the air was thick with smoke and the smell of whiskey. Although it was sti}] afternoon, the shades on the two windows had been drawn and a bridge lamp in the corner was lit. A woman was sitting on a small, flowered couch between the windows, and before her was a small table crowd- ed with two whiskey bottles, a pitcher of water, an overflowing ashtray, and a huge glass bowl, almost an urn, half filled with potato chips. There were ashes and bits of potato chips on the floor. The woman was sitting carefully erect in one corner of the couch, a glass in her hand. Her wrinkled purple dress was pulled up over her knees and she wore a black velvet hat slightly askew. She looked about forty. "This is Mrs. Kernochan," said Mrs. Foltz. "We were having a little drink here. Honey, this is the brush man." "Sit down," said Mrs. Kernochan hoarsely. "Sit down there where I can see you. Take off your coat, Mr. Full- er. " " N h k " h . d . 1 ' 0, t an you, e sal , sml Ing. He put his case down and sat uncom- fortably in a little wooden chair under the bridge lamp. "I'll just keep it on, thanks. " "Lily, give Mr. Fuller a drink," said Mrs. Kernochan, squinting her eyes at him across th e room. "1 am," said Mrs. Foltz. She poured some whiskey into a glass. "You like it neat or with water?" "I don't think-" "Oh, go ahead, go ahead," Mrs. Kernochan said. "We won't snitch on you, Mr. Fuller." "All right, then," he said. "A small one with water." " w h ' 0" O d M e aven t got no Ice, sal rs. Foltz. She walked over and handed him his drink. "We just ran out." "So you're Mr. Fuller," Mrs. Ker- nochan said. "The original one and only. My God! Imagine you right here in the same room with me. How's busi- ness, Mr. Fuller?" The young man smiled and glanced at Mrs. Foltz. "Well, you see, Mad- " h O d . kl " I d ' am, e sal qUIC y, on t represent the Fuller people. They have their line and we have ours. Now, I don't like to knock a competitor, so I'll just say that we think we have about as fine an assort- ment of merchandise as you can find in the field. Now, if you'll let me show you. . ." He put his drink on the floor and knelt down to open his case. "The original one and only," re- peated Mrs. Kernochan, peering at him.